Say what you like about Gaspar Noé, the man has a vision. Watching his latest art-exploitation mash-up Enter the Void (2009, Entertainment One, 18), in which the soul of a young man floats through the neon-lit streets of Tokyo after being violently killed in a toilet, is an extraordinary, if ultimately somewhat empty, experience. Imagine ingesting a vast amount of hallucinogenic drugs while skim-reading The Tibetan Book of the Dead and watching the final reel of 2001, and then sticking your head into one of those machines which makes pink candyfloss – in a strip club.

Buy it from

As always with Noé, everything is turned up to 11, from the cod metaphysics to the ear-bashing soundtrack, the retina-scorching visuals and the obsession with the mechanics of hardcore (remember the Vapors' catchy/creepy 80s hit "Turning Japanese" which wanted "a doctor to take your picture so I can look at you from inside as well"?). On a technical level it's a bravura piece, the camera sweeping breathlessly through streets, buildings, bodies and time barriers, unencumbered by the rules of the physical world; this really is a film which boldly goes where no film has gone before. It's also typically ill-disciplined and overlong, particularly with the inclusion of reel seven which was removed in its entirety for UK theatrical release with no discernible detriment to the overall experience. As for the metaphysics, they are no more profound than those of Eat, Pray, Love (this could easily have been entitled "Die, Fly, Fuck"). But as a piece of head-scrambling outré cinema par excellence, this adventurously unruly cosmic fantasia really is in a world of its own.

Somewhere in the deepest bowels of hell there presumably lies an inferno waiting to engulf the members of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association who awarded corporate ass-kissing Golden Globe best film nods to two of last year's most unworthy clunkers. To start at the bottom, Burlesque (2010, Sony, 12) is a screaming turkey of a film which is best described as Showgirls for kids. Just imagine that for a second; a film with all the artistic bankruptcy of Paul Verhoeven's soft-porn horror but none of the controversial sleaze. If that's not the dictionary definition of pointless then I don't know what is. Christina Aguilera is moderately useless as the wannabe hoofer whose merry bum-waggling antics may save a saucy nightclub from closure, but it's Cher's face-stretching turn which really holds the attention; I kept expecting her drum-tight cheeks to snap off and smack the camera every time she said a word which included an "oo" sound. The rest is all teeth and tassels, with Alan Cumming popping up to remind us all how much we'd rather be watching Cabaret.

It doesn't help that this ships up on DVD in the same week as Mathieu Amalric's slight but affectionate On Tour (2010, Artificial Eye, 15), an infinitely preferable snapshot of the world of burlesque that premiered at the Cannes film festival last year, and which appears to have a genuine human heart. As for Burlesque, what a shame the extra features don't include footage of members of the HFPA being flown to Vegas on an all-expenses-paid jolly prior to casting their venal votes. Boo!

By comparison, The Tourist (2010, Optimum, 12) is decidedly high-class fare, with its enjoyably stupid secret-agent shenanigans, honkingly obvious plot twists and rampant travelogue footage (Ooh look, Venice! Lovely!). Yet once again it's hard to keep a straight face at the Golden Globes' hilarious claim that this was one of the five best films – musical or comedy – of 2010. In fact it's both an unnecessary remake of Anthony Zimmer and an inferior rehash of the face-off riffs of Shattered, with a couple of photogenic Hollywood stars (Angelina Jolie and Johnny Depp) enjoying the scenery, pretending to be mysterious and generally pouting for all they're worth. Only Paul Bettany brings any grit to the proceedings, his fantastically reptilian snarl lending some much needed bite. The real surprise is the presence of The Usual Suspects screenwriter Christopher McQuarrie and the director of The Lives of Others, Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, both of whom have clearly decided that the smart money is on playing dumb.

From the outside, Ferzan Ozpetek's Loose Cannons (2010, Peccadillo, 15) looks like little more than a scenic Italian charmer with lots of smiles and photogenic sunsets. But this generous and pleasantly open-minded comedy-melodrama is rather more substantial, albeit in a solidly soft-hearted way. On the eve of handing over the reins of power, an overbearing father is blind-sided by revelations from his sons, neither of whom wishes to inherit the family business. Although the cocktail of secret gay lives and contrived dynastic squabbles may seem rather trite, the resulting film is touching, often funny (particularly during a La Cage Aux Folles-style display of manliness) and ultimately rather moving.

Actor Diego Luna makes an impressive fist of his dramatic directorial debut Abel (2010, Network Releasing, 15), a slyly satirical story of a nine-year-old boy who adopts the role of family head when abandoned by his father. Allowed to return home after a traumatised spell in psychiatric care, Abel (an eye-opening Christopher Ruiz-Esparza) slips into the mannerisms of his errant dad, rudely demanding his breakfast, sternly chastising his sister for her tearaway teenage behaviour, and (most edgily) treating his mum as a wife. The family plays along at first in an attempt to offer therapy for the deluded child, but as events unfurl it becomes apparent that the neediness is a two-way street. Functioning as both a sensitively observed family drama and an insightfully sardonic commentary on patriarchy, Luna's strange little movie had audiences cheering at international film festivals and deserves to win widespread support on DVD.